


Blitzed

by Viscariafields



Series: Leandra Hawke [17]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Poison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:54:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22589725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viscariafields/pseuds/Viscariafields
Summary: Hawke should be more careful about what cup she drinks from. As it turns out, more than just alcohol will loosen a tongue.~~A really dumb one-shot in which Hawke expresses her true feelings for... noses.
Relationships: Fenris/Female Hawke
Series: Leandra Hawke [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1462840
Comments: 17
Kudos: 79





	Blitzed

Hawke was drunk. She must be, judging by how the world was... whatsit. Wobbling. That was the word. Also there was this cup in her hand. Half full and it was wobbling, too, so she carefully, so slowly and carefully with all the deliberation she could muster, placed it on the table. With seemingly no regard for gravity or her careful diligence and a great regard for the current wobbliness of it all, the cup spilled its contents everywhere. 

Shit. 

Someone had her by the elbow. “Unhand me,” she said, or at least tried to say. The words sounded foreign and her tongue felt too big for her mouth, which would have been concerning if her eyes hadn’t landed on the face of her captor. It was a _good_ face. She loved that face. Those eyes and that mouth and Maker, that jaw. Though if she had to choose her favorite part of Fenris’s face, it would be his nose. It was right where a nose ought to be. And tall. So tall, and solid, like you could punch it and it wouldn’t even notice, or maybe it would break your knuckles right back for your audacity, just solid and strong and tall. Isabela could talk about his eyes all she wanted, and she should talk about his eyes because she was _right_ , and everyone knew it, but the real triumph of his face was his nose. 

If she thought the word ‘nose’ any more times, it would stop sounding like a word. 

Schnoz. That was a word. Too undignified for Fenris. Sniffer. Like a mabari. No, it wouldn’t do. She’d need to come up with new words to properly describe such a perfect one. 

“And what new words would those be?” Fenris asked. 

She tried to muster a glare at him. It wasn’t right for him to read her mind, but she wasn’t surprised that he could. 

“Hawke, you are talking out loud.” Another voice, familiar, though all his words blended together. Anders. Maker, that was another good nose. A honker. Maybe not quite as good as Fenris’s, but just a really robust, Maker-blessed nose. 

“Thanks, Hawke. Now open your mouth.” 

She did not want to. She tried to convey this, but Anders had her chin in his hand and Fenris wasn’t helping at all. 

“Swallow.” 

He let go of her as soon as she did. 

“You carry those with you?” Fenris asked. 

“With this lot? Of course. I’m just surprised this is the first time I’ve had to use one. I once found Hawke and Isabela brewing poisons on the same table where they were eating supper.” A shift, and his face was hidden in ripples of blond hair. “Tie her hair back with this and take her outside. I’ll try to find you a bucket, but honestly, it’s Lowtown. The street has seen worse.” 

The rest of Hawke’s night was miserable blur that was better left forgotten.   
~~ 

Someone was hurting her. Methodically they thumped on her head, bludgeoning her with dark rhythmic purpose. On top of everything, they were trying to light her aflame. Blood magic. That had to be the explanation for what was happening. It was not possible that her own body, of its own will, was producing this pain. 

“If there was any pity in your heart, you would close that curtain,” Hawke moaned from her bed. She wasn’t even certain her cruel tormenter was in the room with her, but she heard movement, and then a blessed relief from sunlight that was seemingly made of knives. 

“Thank you,” she said to whoever was in her bedroom. She struggled to sit up, and as the world lurched around her, so did her stomach. Her head put in a few more throbs for good measure as well. She held it between both hands, trying to push the pain out. “What have you done to me?” 

“You don’t remember?” 

Fenris. The least likely blood mage in Kirkwall, but the worst betrayals came from the most unexpected. 

“You were poisoned,” he continued, “mere minutes after walking into the Hanged Man.” 

“Poisoned? Who would want to poison me?” She could just make out his outline in the dimness of her room. He crossed his arms, and she could imagine the raised eyebrow on his face, judging her. “Oh. Right. That whole Champion thing.” 

“Anders saved your life last night. You may want to thank him. And apologize to him.” 

“That’s my line.” She swallowed as her stomach plunged to the depths of Darktown and then bounded back as if tied with rubber. “I think I owe you thanks and an apology, too.” The smallest recollections of the previous night had the discourtesy of flashing before her aching eyes. She groaned. “And possibly a new pair of shoes.” 

“You know I don’t wear shoes.” 

Hawke suddenly wished desperately the poison had just killed her on the spot. 

“I’ll go see if Anders has an elfroot potion for you.” 

“Deathroot would work just as well if he doesn’t,” Hawke muttered. 

“I forgive you for being poisoned,” Fenris said, opening the door a sliver. The light from the hallway cut a path straight through her brain, and she stifled a whimper. “I will not forgive you for dying, and I have no intention of poisoning you myself, if only to spare us both a repeat of last night.” Hawke wanted to argue that death would spare her a repeat of the previous night _a_ _nd_ the humiliation of living, but more than that she just wanted him to shut the door. 

“One more thing,” Fenris added thoughtfully, “I know you do not care for it, but you have a very pretty nose. It suits your face. It is... charming.” With that he cleared his throat and left the room, leaving her in perfect darkness with an afterimage of his silhouette burned into her eyes. 

Hawke rubbed the flat bridge of her nose, so flat she likened it less to a bridge and more to a pier or a causeway that linked the broad planes of her cheeks. Carver had once said she must have been dropped on her face as a baby. Rich words from someone whose own nose had been as flat as an Orlesian pancake. 

She leaned back in her bed, and despite the continued drumming on her skull, she smiled. 

Fenris thought her nose was cute. 

**Author's Note:**

> I suffer through a lot of headaches, so I tend to come up with excuses for everyone in my stories to also have headaches. 
> 
> If you haven't already, you can find me on tumblr as nug-juggler =)


End file.
